


Emergence

by ShayneyL



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s03e03 The Chute, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 15:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShayneyL/pseuds/ShayneyL
Summary: Yet another post-"Chute" story.Originally posted 12 November 1999.





	Emergence

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know, just what the world needs: another post-"Chute" story. But I couldn't resist, after seeing it in syndication last month.
> 
> It's on the serious side for me, but lighter than the average post-"Chute" story. Beware of talking heads and teen angst. :-) 
> 
> Spoilers for "The Chute."
> 
> Characters and situations owned by Paramount/Viacom. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.

  


       Tom tossed restlessly. The bed hurt his back, the sheets kept tangling around his legs, the pillow was flat and lumpy. He couldn't sleep...and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Sleep was full of nightmares. And not just of Akritiri. That damned shore leave gone wrong had brought up all kinds of memories Tom had thought long buried. His mind felt like a re-opened wound. 

       It had been a week since their rescue from the Akritirian prison. He'd slept like the dead the first day, recovering from his ordeal, but as his body healed, his mind had grown more troubled, his sleep more disturbed. He'd tried medication, he'd tried exercising to the point of exhaustion, he'd even tried booze. Nothing worked. If he didn't get a decent night's sleep tonight, he'd have to request medical leave. Piloting while sleep-deprived was something he refused do to _Voyager_. 

       It would pass, he knew. It always did. In the meantime, he would just have to find a way to endure. 

       He turned over, punching his pillow and kicking at the recalcitrant sheets. The climate-controlled quiet of his room was nothing like Akritiri. But when he closed his eyes, he was back there again. Lying on the hard, freezing ground, gnawed by pain and thirst and hunger, trying not hear the screams of other inmates. A living hell, where the only thing keeping him alive was the fading hope that _Voyager_ would come through. Hope...and Harry. 

       Harry. They'd slept side by side every night in that prison, for protection, for warmth, for simple human contact. Damn. Tom was suddenly seized by the conviction that if only he were with Harry now, he'd be able to sleep. Desperate, he flung the sheets aside and got up. Deciding his sweatpants and t-shirt were decent enough for the short trip, he just shoved shoes on his feet and slipped out the door. 

       Harry had given him the code to his quarters long ago, and Tom entered silently. He padded to the bedroom, where Harry was sleeping. He wasn't worried he'd wake his friend. Harry was young, and still slept like a child, dead to the world once he was out. The sleep of the righteous. Looking down at him, Tom felt his heart clench with tenderness. What he'd done to deserve a friend like this he didn't know, but Harry Kim was definitely the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

       He kicked off his shoes and slid under the blanket beside his sleeping friend. Harry wouldn't mind; they'd shared a bed many a time before, on shore leave, or just when one or the other of them was too tired or too drunk to return to his own quarters. Tom sighed as he was enveloped in Harry's familiar warmth and scent. Harry always smelled so nice, Tom mused idly. Even when he was dirty and sweaty, he didn't reek like most people did. It was especially noticeable in the Akritirian prison, where at least you didn't have to worry about dropping the soap in the shower - because there were no showers and no soap. Tom had been sure he'd die in there, and for some reason was especially peeved at the indignity of dying while filthy and smelling like a goat. Harry hadn't seemed to mind, though, curling carefully against him each night to share what little comfort there was in that hellhole. 

       Tom still couldn't stop thinking about Akritiri, but the memories lacked the sharp, jagged edges they had when he was alone. Something deep inside him unknotted, and he truly relaxed for the first time in a week. Soon he was sound asleep. 

# # # # # #

       Harry dreamed. 

        _Rage burned along his nerves, hot and irresistible. Tom fought against him, but he was no match for the strength of Harry's fury. He held the heavy pipe overhead, trembling. Tom looked up at him, wild-eyed, terrified, begging. "Please, Harry, no, don't, please...." But Harry ignored his pleas, bringing down the pipe, hard, until Tom was cold and still, his screams silenced forever...._

       Harry sat up with a gasp, completely disoriented, heart pounding loudly in his chest. Gradually, reality sank in. It was only another nightmare. He wasn't in the Akritirian prison, he was safe on _Voyager_. And Tom was all right, Tom was - oh, god, no! 

       Harry cried out in sudden panic, seeing Tom lying beside him. He jerked away in horror - then felt foolish. This Tom was not pale and bloody, he was gently flushed with sleep. And he was most definitely not dead, stirring at the commotion Harry was making. Drowsy blue eyes opened, and he yawned. "Morning, Harry. Ummm, you okay?" 

       Harry tried to will his thudding heart to slow. "Fine," he answered automatically. What was Tom doing here, anyway? "Too drunk last night to find your own room?" 

       "Something like that," Tom said airily. Then he looked at Harry more closely. "Hey, are you sure you're all right? If you back up one more centimeter, you're going to fall off." 

       Harry blushed. He was balanced on the very edge of the bed, clutching the sheets up like a frightened child. "I'm fine," he repeated. "You just startled me." 

       "Oh. Sorry." Tom grinned devilishly, then reached out with one foot and pushed. Harry tumbled backwards onto the floor in a tangle of sheets and flailing limbs. He landed with a clumsy thud, then bounced up again on pure reflex, ready to leap at Tom and wrestle him into submission...but the unpleasant dregs of his nightmare stopped him. 

       Instead, he sat back down on the floor, leaning his arms on the bed. Tom watched him, faintly puzzled that no attack was forthcoming. "You'll be sorry for that...later," Harry said. "Just remember, Thomas Eugene, payback's a bitch." He stood up. "I have to get ready for my shift." 

       "You've got another hour, Har," Tom protested, but Harry went into the bathroom and started the shower anyway. He took long enough to be sure Tom would be gone by the time he came out. 

# # # # # #

       That night was a turning point for Tom. He still didn't exactly sleep well, but he got enough rest, in his own bed, that he could continue his duty shifts without being a danger to the ship and her crew. He was recovering. 

       Harry, however, was another story. Tom sat across from him in the mess hall, noting the signs of exhaustion in the young face. "You know, you never can be too sure around here, but I'm pretty certain it's dead. Have mercy already." Tom gestured toward the plate where Harry was methodically cutting his food into nigh microscopic pieces, but not, so far as Tom could tell, actually eating any of it. 

       Harry smiled, not very convincingly, and put down his fork. "Sorry," he said. "I'm a little distracted, I guess." 

       "So I noticed. What's bugging you, anyway?" 

       "Nothing, really. Just, uh....thinking about the capacity problem we're having with the relays in section 61-alpha...." 

       "Oh, come on! B'Elanna is contaminating you. We're off-duty. Stop thinking about work." Deciding that Harry was finished with his dinner, Tom suggested, "Sandrine's? Few rounds of pool?" 

       "I'm a little tired tonight, Tom." 

       "But Harry...." 

       "Maybe tomorrow," Harry said apologetically, then stood, bussed his tray, and left. 

       Tom looked after him, frowning slightly. No, Harry just hadn't been the same since Akritiri. Well, it was understandable. Tom had found it pretty traumatic himself, and he wasn't the sheltered young innocent Harry was. Nowhere near it. So Tom had assumed that Harry just needed a little time to adjust. But he wasn't getting better. Quite the opposite. 

       Harry wasn't exactly avoiding him. They saw each other on the bridge every day. They always ate together. Well, Tom ate. Harry mostly played with his food. He didn't seem to be sleeping well, either, and Tom feared that the captain and Tuvok would notice soon, if they hadn't already. Harry still joined him on the holodeck sometimes, and he went to Harry's quarters to listen to him practice clarinet, though not as often as before. Harry was as polite and dependable as ever. But he was oddly quiet, and Tom couldn't shake the feeling that his best friend was drifting away from him. 

       Perhaps Harry just needed to be alone, to work things out. Tom could certainly empathize. So he gave Harry some space, even though it broke his heart to watch his friend's obvious distress. Harry was special to him. Had been from the moment he ensured Tom's place among _Voyager_ 's crew by befriending him despite the warnings of his superiors. That took a hell of a lot of guts for a young ensign just starting his very first assignment. And after Akritiri...he owed his life to Harry, several times over. Tom would be dead, if Harry hadn't risked his life to save him - again and again. The thought that Harry's current suffering might be for his sake hurt worse than that festering knife wound had. 

# # # # # #

       Harry splashed water on his face, then peered at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, studying the plain, familiar features. He didn't look any different. It was almost a surprise. 

       He touched the back of his head, where the clamp had been. He knew the Doctor had removed the device; he'd seen it, tiny and harmless-looking, in a little dish in Sickbay. The clamp was gone, but its ghost still lingered. 

       When he'd first woken in Sickbay, he'd felt profound relief. The dark, relentless, driving pressure was gone. Finally, his mind was his own again. But it hadn't lasted. Slowly, some of the impulses that had plagued him in that alien prison returned. At first at night, in his dreams, and then during the day. Nothing as overwhelming as what he'd experienced in prison, but still, they were disturbing - things he'd never felt before Akritiri. He wondered if he'd been permanently changed by the clamp. Or perhaps it had only revealed parts of himself he hadn't been aware of before...which, having once emerged, refused to go back where they came from. 

       And Tom...somehow Tom was at the heart of it all. Being around him made it worse. He was too strong a reminder, perhaps. Harry found himself trying to keep Tom at a distance, afraid of the dark compulsion that rose up in him sometimes, when he looked into those warm blue eyes. 

# # # # # #

       Tom had given Harry several days, to no avail. His friend only grew quieter and more troubled. Finally, when Harry skipped dinner for the second night in a row, Tom decided it was time to step in. 

       There was no answer when he signalled at the door, so he let himself in. Harry was lying on his couch, dressed only in his underwear and a t-shirt. He looked very, very tired. "Come in," he said sarcastically, seeing Tom. 

       "Aren't you going to eat?" Tom asked. 

       Harry shut his eyes. "I did that yesterday. A couple of times." 

       Tom doubted that, but didn't say anything. He came over and stood by the couch, looking down at Harry with an analytical eye. Was he visibly thinner? Harry always looked smaller and younger when he was out of uniform, but it did appear that he was losing weight. His cheeks were so flushed Tom wondered if he were sick. He placed a hand against Harry's forehead, then felt the side of his neck. Harry tensed at the touch, but allowed it. 

       Harry's skin felt dry and very, very warm. "You have a fever," Tom said. "You should go to Sickbay and get something for it." 

       "Okay, Tom," Harry said. He made no move to get up, though. 

       "Come on. Get dressed." 

       "I'll go later." 

       "No. Now." 

       Harry's eyes opened then, glowering at Tom. 

       "Please, Harry. I'm worried about you." 

       "I'm tired. I'll go tomorrow, okay?" 

       "No. If you won't listen to your best friend, Tom, then listen to your superior officer, Lt. Paris. Or Field Medic Paris. I'll make it an order if I have to, Harry." 

       "Tom!" 

       "Get dressed and walk down to Sickbay with me, or be beamed there in your underwear." 

       "All right, all right." Harry got up and started dressing. 

# # # # # #

       "Please state the nature of the medical emergency." 

       "It's not an emergency," Harry grumbled. "There's nothing wrong." 

       "Do a scan anyway." Tom draped an arm around Harry's shoulder, trying to be reassuring. 

       Harry didn't want to be reassured. He shrugged off Tom's touch. "I'm fine," he told the doctor sullenly. 

       "I see." A mediscanner whirred. "Hmmm," the doctor said, studying his medical tricorder. "You're a bit run down. Haven't been eating or sleeping well, I take it." 

       Harry didn't answer. 

       "Well, I think I have something that will help." 

       Harry stared at the floor. He looked so unhappy, so unlike the enthusiastic, good-humored young man he had been...before Akritiri. It was killing Tom, seeing his best friend so changed. 

       Tom started as a hypospray hissed against his neck. "Hey! Harry's the patient, not me!" He glared at the doctor. 

       "Standard operating procedure. Treat medical personal first, so they can care for others." 

       "I'm not sick!" 

       "Like I said, you're a little run down. It's just a mild sedative, to help you sleep tonight." 

       "What about _Harry_?" 

       "Ensign Kim, like you, is a bit run down. Fever is due to a virus not uncommon among humans. Ordinarily it causes no symptoms, unless the immune system is weakened - by exhaustion, for example. It's not serious, in any case. Mr. Kim would recover on his own in two or three days. I'll give him something for it, and he'll be fine tomorrow morning." The hypo hissed again, this time against Harry's neck. 

       "Doc," Harry said. "The effects of the clamp...are they gone?" 

       "Yes, of course. I would not have released you from Sickbay otherwise." He moved his scanner around Harry's head, checking anyway, then around Tom's. "Stress levels are slightly elevated, but that's to be expected after your difficult experience. You'll both be fine. Just give it time." 

# # # # # #

       Tom insisted on walking him back to his quarters, and there was no way Harry could refuse. Tom had forgiven Harry for what he'd almost done to him in that prison, but Harry still felt he owed Tom a debt he could never repay. Letting him accompany him back to his quarters was the least he could do. 

       Tom meant well, but his very presence filled Harry with tension, winding him tighter and tighter, until he wanted to grab Tom and.... No, he wouldn't think about it. It wasn't Tom's fault that he reminded Harry of their time in the penal colony. The Doctor had said all he needed was time, and Harry clung to that. Eventually, things would be better. Until then, he just had to keep a firm grip on himself. 

       He hoped Tom would see him to the door, then go to his own quarters. To no avail. Tom followed him in. He'd done so many times in the past, and Harry hadn't thought twice about it. But that was before.... 

       "You really should eat something," Tom said. 

       Harry dropped onto the couch. "Too tired," he said. And it was true. The drugs the Doctor had given him were kicking in with a vengeance. He found he could barely stay upright. He slid sideways to lie on the couch. 

       "Hey, not there. Let's get you to bed," Tom said. He dragged Harry to his feet. 

       "Leave me alone," Harry complained. He didn't want to move. 

       "Come on, you'll sleep much better in your bed." Tom pulled him toward the sleeping area, and it was easier to go along than to protest. The room seemed to be swaying now, but of course that couldn't be. He must be the one....suddenly Tom's chest loomed up in front of his eyes, and he realized dimly that he'd collapsed into Tom's arms. How embarrassing. 

       "Whoa," Tom said, and lowered him gently onto the bed. "Either the Doc miscalculated the dose or you're even worse off than I thought." 

       Harry lay there in a daze as strong, sure hands tugged his boots off, then began pulling at the fastenings of his uniform. But a thin thread of increasing unease penetrated his drugged haze, dragging Harry awake. He sat up, jerking away from Tom. "I'm not a kid," he said, irritated. "I can put myself to bed." 

       "Okay, okay," Tom said, backing off. He looked at Harry, concern and hurt and puzzlement in his eyes, and Harry immediately felt like slime. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Tom any more than he already had - Tom, his best friend, who was worried about him, and only trying to help. 

       "Sorry," Harry said. "Guess I'm a little cranky." He reached out to touch Tom's shoulder, then pulled his hand back, hesitant for reasons he didn't fully understand. 

       Tom didn't seem to notice. He smiled, reaching out to cup Harry's cheek. Harry gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile back. Tom leaned closer...and closer. He felt Tom's breath on his face, then his warm lips against his mouth. Tom was...kissing him? Harry was still for moment, stunned, then a maelstrom of dark, wild emotions surged up inside him, feelings he didn't want to look at too closely. He shoved Tom away and rolled free, across the bed. "No!" he gasped. 

       Tom's voice was hoarse, broken. "Harry...." 

       "Go away! Just leave me alone. Please." 

       "Harry, I'm _sorry_!" 

       Harry kept his back turned, refusing to look at Tom. Eventually, he heard retreating footsteps, and the sound of the door sliding open and closed. He sagged into the bed with a groan. What was he going to do? He couldn't protect Tom from his own dark impulses, any more than he could while they were in prison. He felt just as trapped as if he'd never been freed from his Akritirian life sentence. 

# # # # # #

       Damn, damn, damn. Tom paced his quarters, berating himself. How could he be so stupid? He was the most selfish, idiotic, insensitive fool in the universe. What he'd just done to Harry was unforgivable. 

       Something had happened to Harry on Akritiri, and Tom was beginning to suspect what it was. In fact, he should have seen it long ago. He of all people should have guessed. 

       He remembered that morning he'd crept into Harry's bed. It hadn't occurred to him at the time. He'd been too absorbed in his own problems. But looking back, he should have realized. Harry's panic at finding Tom there. The way he'd shied away, to teeter on the edge of the bed like a terrified virgin. Hah. Tom knew prisons, and Akritiri was worse than most. Terrified Harry might be, but the poor kid was likely not a virgin. Not any more. 

       And what had Tom done? Just about the worst thing he could possibly do. Paris, you're such a jerk, he told himself. He could only blame the sedative the Doc had given him. It certainly had relaxed him, better than the best booze. He'd felt good, really good, mellow and happy in a way he hadn't since before Akritiri. And Harry! Tousled and drowsy and dreamy-eyed...Harry had been irresistible. 

        Tom had never intended to do anything like this. Not ever. Oh, he'd always felt a certain physical attraction toward Harry. He'd enjoyed the one-sided sexual tension. Like the bubbles in his favorite French champagne, it added sparkle to their time together. But he'd felt no need to act on it. Bedmates were a dime a dozen; true friends were very few and far between. Harry was the best friend he'd ever had, and it had never occurred to Tom to try to change his role. 

       Until now. Tom wished he could bang his head against the wall without annoying his neighbors. Not only had he put the moves on his best friend, he'd done it at the worst imaginable time. Not exactly a good luck charm, indeed. 

# # # # # #

        _Tom was so very pale. Pale hair, pale skin, pale, staring eyes. Beautiful but cold, like a marble statue. Harry took the chill, lifeless body into his arms, held it tight._ Don't leave me _, Tom had said. Harry wouldn't. Not ever. It was the least he owed Tom...._

       Harry jerked awake, shuddering. The nightmare slowly faded, and he realized he was lying on his bed, still in his uniform. The sedative the Doctor had given him had made him sleep, despite his emotional turmoil. 

       "Computer, time?" 

       "0933 hours." 

        _What?_ He was two and a half hours late for his shift! "Computer, what happened to my wakeup alarm?" 

       "Cancelled, authorization EMH-alpha." 

       Harry fell back on the bed. He knew what that meant. The Doctor had put him on medical leave for the day. Damn. He needed the escape of work. Well, B'Elanna would probably find something for him to do, if he asked her. He got up, heading for the bathroom. 

       A nice, hot shower usually made him feel better. Not this morning. What an idiot he'd been last night, acting like a teenaged kid who'd never been kissed before. He'd have to apologize to Tom. Though how he was going to explain it, he didn't know. He didn't fully understand it himself. 

       The call came as soon as he got out of the shower. "Paris to Kim." The timing was suspicious. Tom had probably asked the computer to notify him when Harry's shower stopped. Tom, who usually walked right in without bothering to knock, at any hour of the day or night. Harry sighed. He didn't want to face Tom now, but obviously, the man was distraught. And it was Harry's fault. 

       "Go ahead, Tom." 

       "Harry, we have to talk. Please." Tom's voice was urgent, but pitched very low. He was probably on the bridge. 

       "Tom, it's all right. I'm sorry for overreacting." 

       "Please, Harry, I need to see you. After shift?" 

       "After dinner," Harry offered instead. That way Tom couldn't ask him to eat with him. "Come by at around 2000 hours." 

       There was a long pause. "All right," Tom finally said. 

# # # # # #

       Harry stood on the upper deck of Engineering, monitoring readouts while Nicoletti and Carey replaced some conduit in Jeffries Tube 29. He was concentrating so intensely on his console that he didn't realize B'Elanna had come up behind him until she touched his arm. 

       "Sorry," she said, when he jumped. "How's the replacement going?" 

       "Fine," he replied. "There was a power drop of 2.7451% when they disconnected the old conduit, but the backups are compensating nicely. They should be done soon." 

       "Good," she said. "That should take care of that capacity problem. Now tell me what's wrong." 

       "Nothing. All indicators are green." 

       "I mean with _you_ , Harry." 

       Oh. "I'm fine," he protested. "The Doc just -" 

       B'Elanna cut him off. "Harry. When you throw yourself into your work this way, it always means you're hiding from something. What is it?" 

       "I just felt like working, okay?" 

       B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Harry." 

       He gave up. "Am I that transparent?" he asked, annoyed. 

       "Yes. Oh, don't worry, it's part of your charm." 

       "Don't you have a manifold to inspect or something?" 

       "All right," she said. "I can take a hint." She turned to leave, then paused. "Just don't hide too long, Starfleet. Whatever it is, the sooner you face it, the better." 

       Harry scowled as she walked away. That was B'Elanna - nothing if not direct. But she was right. He was hiding. And he was tired of it. Maybe he should talk to someone.... No, he could handle this himself. He had to. Anything else would be a failure, and after Akritiri, he couldn't take any more failures. 

# # # # # #

       Tom was so nervous he couldn't eat dinner. The minutes seemed to drag, but finally it was 2000 hours, and he was signalling at Harry's door. He charged in the second the door opened. "Harry, I am so sorry. Damn it. My mouth is always getting me in trouble. Even when it's not talking. I don't know what came over me last night. I'm such a screw-up..." 

       Harry, sitting at his desk, tried to say something. "Tom, it's all right. I'm the one who -" 

       Tom didn't let him finish. "No, it's not all right. You had every reason to be upset. But I want you to know...Harry, you can trust me. I promise you, you don't have to worry about...my unwanted attentions. Ever." 

       Harry got up, came closer. He was wearing his uniform, even though he was supposed to have had the day off. "It's okay, Tom. It's not like I've never been kissed before. I don't know why I reacted that way, really, but I'm sorry." 

       "You forgive me?" Tom asked 

       "There's nothing to forgive." 

       "You sure?" He came closer, put a hand on Harry's arm. 

       "Of course," Harry said, but he stiffened at the touch. Tom noticed, and carefully withdrew his hand. 

       "Harry...what's the matter?" 

       "Nothing." But he didn't meet Tom's eyes. 

       "Something happened in that prison, didn't it?" 

       Harry looked down and didn't answer. 

       "Did they...hurt you?" Tom prompted. 

       Harry shrugged. 

       Tom tried again. "Did they rape you?" 

       Harry looked up at that, startled. "No," he answered. 

       Tom wasn't convinced. "Are you sure?" 

       "I'm pretty certain I would have noticed something like that." Harry's bemusement was unmistakably genuine, and Tom could have fainted with relief. He hadn't realized until that moment how terribly the burden of failing to protect Harry from that particular trauma had been weighing upon him. 

       "Then what's wrong?" Tom asked. 

       "Nothing," Harry repeated. 

       Tom took a step toward Harry, grabbed his shoulders. "Then why do you flinch every time I get near you?" A sudden, unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Did I do something to you that I don't remember?" 

       Harry's eyes widened. "No, Tom, of course not. I'm not afraid of you." He turned away, going over to sit on the couch. "I'm afraid of me." 

       "What?" 

       "Tom, I almost bashed your brains out. You were injured, dying...my best friend. You cried, begged, 'Please, no, Harry, please' - but I didn't care." 

       Tom knelt on the floor in front of Harry. "Look, it was just the clamp -" 

       "What if it wasn't just the clamp?" 

       "It _was_ just the clamp!" 

       Harry licked his lips nervously. "No. The clamp is gone, but I still.... I still want to..." 

       Tom felt a chill. Maybe something was really, really wrong here. "What, Harry? What do you want to do?" 

       Harry shook his head, mute, and shut his eyes. 

       "Harry..." Tom stroked Harry's hair, his forehead, his cheek. "Tell me. There's nothing so terrible that you can't say it." 

       "Please, don't touch me," Harry said. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, and he was trembling under Tom's hands. 

       "Or what, Harry? What are you afraid you'll do?" Tom knew he was taking a risk, provoking Harry like this, but he wanted to force Harry to face the worst of his fears. And he was reasonably confident of being able to handle Harry if he flipped out. 

       Suddenly Harry groaned, and his eyes flew open. For one frozen moment, Harry stared at him, eyes wild. Then he yelled something inarticulate, and sprang. Tom went tumbling back onto the carpet, Harry on top of him. Before Tom fully realized what had happened, Harry was kissing him deeply, moaning, thrusting against him. Tom was too shocked to respond for a moment, but then began kissing back. No fool he. But Harry shuddered, then pulled away. He threw himself away from Tom, rolling sideways on the floor, curling up with his back to Tom. 

       Tom gasped, then sat up slowly. Part of him wanted to laugh. _That_ was what Harry feared so much? Good grief. But he sensed it wasn't that simple. 

       "Harry?" No reply. "Har, why'd you stop?" 

       "You don't understand," Harry said. He sounded as if he might be crying. 

       "Then tell me." Tom edged closer to Harry, carefully not touching him. 

       "I wanted to think it was the clamp." Harry's voice was so low Tom had to strain to hear it. "I thought I would go insane, down there in that pit. I was exhausted, yet so on edge I could hardly sleep. And the thoughts going through my head...I never thought things like that before." He shivered. "I kept telling myself it was just the clamp. But when we got back, and the clamp was removed...the thoughts didn't go away. Things came out down there that should have stayed hidden. And they won't go away." 

       "What things?" 

       "I want..." 

       "Want what?" 

       "Want...you." He said it as if just realizing it himself. 

       "Harry, if _that's_ why you've been about killing yourself the past couple of weeks, I'm going to be very insulted." 

       Harry finally turned around. "Tom, please, it's nothing personal." 

       "What is it, then? That I'm a guy? That I'm not Libby?" 

       "No." Harry covered his face with his hands. "It's that...it's not good. Not right, what I feel about you since the clamp. I feel so...out of control. I want to grab you and...I'm afraid of what I'll do. I never felt this way before...before..." 

       "But that doesn't mean it's not normal," Tom said. Harry was young, after all, and maybe didn't have much experience being in love...infatuated, he corrected himself. Given the circumstances, it wasn't surprising he would fixate on the only friendly face in that hellhole. 

       "I...I dream," Harry said. "I dream I'm killing you again, and it's because you made me want you and you don't want me." 

       "Harry, bad dreams are only to be expected, after what we went through. You should see some of mine." 

       "But..." 

        Cautiously, Tom reached out and took Harry's hand, gripping it as he had when sleeping beside Harry in that prison. Harry let him. "Harry, near as I can tell...nothing's wrong with you that hasn't gone wrong with people since the beginning of time. Especially people who are young and full of hormones." 

       "What?" The expression of astonishment on Harry's face was almost comical. "You think...all this is just because I'm in love?" 

       More like in lust, but Tom let it go. "You're going to be fine." 

       "But it was never like this with Libby!" Harry protested. 

       "It's not always the same. Hell, it doesn't even mean you love her any less. A lot of people think that more intense the infatuation, the sooner it's over." 

       "That's ridiculous," Harry growled. "This can't be normal." 

       "Why not?" 

       Harry couldn't come up with an answer. Instead, he pulled away, got to his feet, and started to pace. Which was a good sign, Tom thought. It meant he was thinking about it. 

       "Harry, I know it feels like you're going crazy, but you're not. Don't worry. You aren't going to hurt anyone." Tom stood up, placing himself in Harry's path, forcing him to stop. 

       "How do you know?" 

       "Because I'm your friend, and in some ways, I know you better than you know yourself." Harry still didn't look convinced. "Okay, I'll prove it to you. No, you'll prove it to me." 

       "What?" 

       "Come." Tom gathered Harry into his arms. Harry gasped, body tensing. He tried to pull away, but Tom kept his grip firm. As he'd expected, Harry was afraid to fight too hard. 

       "What are you doing?" Harry asked. 

       "We're going to sleep together." 

       "What?!" 

       "Just sleep," Tom said soothingly. 

       Harry wasn't soothed. "No!" 

       "Why not? We've done it before." 

       "I don't trust myself." 

       "I trust you." 

       "But I might..." His voice trailed off. 

       "What? Rape me? Kill me?" 

       "I don't know!" 

       "I do. You won't harm me." 

       "You can't be sure of that!" 

       "Yes, I can. Harry, even in that damned prison, with those implants driving us crazy, you couldn't bring yourself to really hurt me. If you didn't do it then, you won't do it now." 

       "I almost..." 

       "You didn't." 

       Harry looked up at him, dark eyes so weary and full of pain it broke Tom's heart. 

       "Harry," Tom whispered. "You can't go on like this. Please, trust me." 

       Harry hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. He was trembling with exhaustion and tension, and put up no resistance as Tom led him to the bed. Tom stripped, leaving his t-shirt and undershorts on, and got into bed. Harry looked as if he might bolt, but instead he got into his sleep clothes and crawled into bed as well, lying as far away from Tom as he possibly could. 

# # # # # #

       Harry shut his eyes and pretended to sleep as Tom ordered the lights out. He didn't like this, not at all. It reminded him too much of the penal colony. How had he let Tom talk him into it.... Then Harry's thoughts scattered, as Tom suddenly rolled over and grabbed him, pulling him into an embrace. 

       "Don't be afraid, Harry," Tom whispered. "It's not so bad, is it?" 

       "No," Harry replied automatically...and after awhile, he realized it was true. Lying here in the dark, in Tom's arms...what was so terrifying about it? He'd been afraid to examine his feelings too closely, hoping if he didn't look, they'd go away. But now at last he was looking, and it wasn't as bad as he feared. Fire burned along his nerves, but...it wasn't the same kind of fire. Heat and urgency, a certain agitation, yes, that was the same, but the grinding, driving aggression...that was absent. 

       Maybe it was true...his only problem was that he'd fallen in love, and in the turmoil of the prison and the clamp, not recognized his feelings for what they were. Tentatively, he slipped an arm around Tom. Could it really be something so simple, and so silly? Too tired and confused to think about it any more, he slept. 

# # # # # #

       Harry woke up to a feeling of amazing well-being. He'd almost forgotten what it was like, to feel so calm and well-rested and...hopeful? Shifting a little, he turned to see Tom sprawled at his side. Tom, always beautiful, was positively angelic in sleep. Harry smiled, suffused with tenderness at the sight. 

       His mind clear for the first time in over a week, he considered all that had happened. Had he fallen in love with Tom Paris? Was that the only thing wrong with him? Could the wild surge in his blood every time he looked at Tom truly be something as innocent as passion? 

       The feeling wasn't unlike love as described in literature and song. He'd always assumed that the writers were exaggerating. Or that he was too practical to react that way. Certainly love had never been like that for him. Apparently, he'd loved, but never been _in_ love. Until now. He felt both embarrassment and relief. 

# # # # # #

       Harry was already awake when Tom opened his eyes. There was a serious, introspective expression on his friend's face; he was looking at Tom without really seeing him. 

       "Stop thinking so hard," Tom said. "You'll strain something." 

       Harry blinked, then looked away. "You must think I'm an idiot," he said. 

       Tom knew immediately what he was talking about. "No, Har. I just think you're very young, and that you've had a particularly rough coming of age." He pushed himself up on his elbow, leaning over Harry. "The damned clamp brought all kinds of things to the surface. It was something you never felt before. It's not surprising you confused it with...less pleasant emotions." He sighed, shaking his head a little. "You should have told me, Harry. Or somebody." 

       "I was afraid." 

       "Of what?" 

       "That you'd hate me. Be disgusted. Be disappointed in my weakness." 

       "Harry." Tom put his arms around him and pulled him close. "I don't know how all this is going to work out between us. But you'll always be my best friend. Nothing about you could disgust me." 

       "But-" 

       "Harry. I've seen the worst in you. And I only love you more for it." 

       Harry sighed, relaxing into Tom's embrace. Tom held him, feeling happy, but also strange and unsure. His best friend...wanted to be more than friends. He hadn't had time to really consider that before now; he'd been so focused on reassuring Harry. Part of him was amazed and delighted. It was beyond his wildest dreams. But part of him was also nervous about how this would change their relationship, which had always been so good just as it was. 

       "I should have known it was true love, when you slept with me every night in that damned penal colony, even though I smelled like a goat," he said, to distract himself. 

       Harry was silent for a long moment, making Tom wonder if it was too soon to joke about Akritiri. Then he said hesitantly, "Tom...." 

       "What, Harry?" 

       "What would you say if I told you that...I _like_ goats?" 

       Suspicious but uncertain, Tom pulled back, trying to see Harry's face. Harry gave him a sudden shove, and Tom went tumbling off the bed in a tangle of bed linens. 

       Harry grinned wickedly. "Payback's a bitch, Tom." 

       Tom lay there for a moment, stunned. Then he broke into helpless giggles. He knew then that whatever happened, he and Harry would be all right; it was stupid of him to even worry about it. Sputtering with curses and laughter, Tom threw a pillow at Harry, then threw himself after it.


End file.
